Chapter 33
Lillian
Stanley sounds from Dante’s computer. “Liam Boyle is not on the list of Parkhaven investors.”
Stupid AI. “He keeps his money hidden in antique vehicles, bitcoin, overseas accounts, or on paper.”
While the guys discuss ways to find a link, my mind wanders. The last time I saw my father, he was in the courtyard. Two flights above, I threatened to jump off a balcony. At the same time, his men tortured Sean in a garage filled with his multimillion-dollar cars.
My fists clench. I hate my father. Hate how he killed my mother. Hate how he kidnapped me to marry a man twice my age. I have lived my whole life in fear. This stops now. I will end Liam Boyle.
A newer, more rational inner voice argues. These men want to help.
Angry me refuses to listen. I won’t let them die for me.
Isn’t going solo exactly what your father wants? And expects? Shit. This calmer me is right. My father thinks of me as the impetuous teen he raised. That’s his weakness. When he wasn’t watching, I grew up.
I have no idea how the meeting ended, but no one’s smiling.
“We’ll give you two a minute.” Dante shoots us a scowl as he motions for the guys to depart.
Hanging back, eyes guarded, Sean tries to hide his emotions, but his efforts fall short. I know him too well. Closer to him, I slide my fingers behind his neck, pulling him into a kiss.
It says everything I can’t put into words. Sorry. Love you. Don’t be mad. Take me back. Let’s start over.
When we break apart, his eyes shine in the dark, empty room. “We can make it through this, babe.”
Praying my sister will cut me some slack, I take a deep breath. “Rebecca’s hideout is a dorm room in Chelsea. I should’ve told you. My father has them, and it’s all my fault.”
“Nothing is certain.” After tapping out a number, he lifts a new burner phone to his ear. “Hey, Mace. I have their location… Yeah… texting it to you.”
Sean listens to him for a bit, then glances at me. “Do you have a safe word to keep her from shooting him?”
“Yeah. Bazooka.” When my face heats, he grins.
“Seriously?”
“Cut me some slack. We were in grade school.” My voice cracks, remembering all the beatings as a kid. “I’ve never shared it with anyone before.”
“Thank you for trusting us.” Eyes soft, he places his phone in my hands. “Send Mace the address. He’s already on his way.”